Pay Attention
by lydiamaartin
Summary: The story of a girl who was always forgotten in favor of her elder sister, but who grew up to oppose Voldemort as best she could. A talented artist and a loyal friend, this is the story of Astoria Greengrass. - DracoAstoria


**Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter. That's a lie.**

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* * *

**"Mother, what about this one?" Nine-year-old Astoria holds up a dark green dress, almost black against her fair skin, and glanced up at her mother.

"Hm, what, dear?" Aviva Greengrass asks distractedly, browsing a rack of dresses for older girls, looking for something fit for Daphne, the Greengrass heiress.

Astoria opens her mouth to repeat the question, but Daphne appears at their mother's side, a pout on her lips.

"Mother," Daphne whines, "I can't find anything good to wear!"

Astoria glances down at the dress in her hands. The emerald bordered with gold would undoubtedly work well for fair-haired, slender Daphne. She sighs quietly as Daphne turns to her sister and catches sight of the beautiful dress Astoria is holding.

"Mother, I want that one!" Daphne snatches the dress from Astoria's hands and looks back at her mother, eyes wide and pleading.

Aviva regards the dress and then smiles. "Of course, darling, it'll look lovely on you! Come on, let's go and pay. Astoria, have you chosen a dress?"

Astoria blinks and shrugs. Aviva frowns. "Well, hurry up, then, we don't have all day."

Astoria wants to point out the fact that they've spent the whole morning and a good chunk of afternoon searching for Daphne's dress, but that wouldn't sit well with either her mother or her sister, so she just turns and randomly picks a blue dress in her size out of a nearby rack.

"All right, that'll do," Aviva says and herds her daughters to the counter to pay. Daphne beams, reverently admiring the green dress, and no one pays any attention to Astoria's purchase.

No one pays any attention to Astoria either.

* * *

At the party, Astoria finds herself lost in the whirlwind of haughty, pureblood guests while Daphne flits about like a butterfly, mingling and chatting up a storm with everyone her age. It's how she's supposed to act, like a Greengrass, like a pureblood.

Astoria finds an empty chair and sits, smoothing out the skirt of her dress as she did so. She was used to being ignored; Daphne was bright and bubbly, always giggling and gossiping with the likes of Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. Astoria was quiet and shy, never speaking unless she had to, always out of place at parties like this one.

A woman comes over to the refreshments table besides her. Astoria can't help envying the woman's poise and glamour, how she held herself like a proper pureblood.

After pouring herself a glass of wine, the woman turned and noticed Astoria for the first time. Astoria smiles sweetly as she's taught to do, and the woman smiles back.

"Hello, dear. What's your name?" The woman Summons a chair and takes a seat besides Astoria.

"Astoria Greengrass, ma'm," answers Astoria politely.

"Are you enjoying the party, Astoria?" The woman asks, taking a sip from her wine.

"Yes, ma'm," Astoria says, though she's really not, she just wants to go up to her room and sleep, because she hates parties, and always has.

The woman regards her for a moment. Astoria fidgets, toying with her favorite bracelet, made of seashells, as she waits for the woman to either speak, or decided Astoria wasn't worth her time and leave.

"You don't look like you're enjoying it," the woman says finally. "Have you danced with anyone?"

"No, ma'm," Astoria's taken dance lessons, as every pureblood girl has, but no boy ever asked her to dance, always focusing on Daphne instead.

"Well, that won't do," says the woman, smiling at Astoria. "Not for the daughter of our hosts, certainly not!" The woman glances to her other side and beckons someone over.

"Ma'm?" Astoria questioned, suddenly nervous. The woman smiles reassuringly at her and waits a moment until a young boy, about Daphne's age, appears at their side.

"Yes, Mother?" He asks politely, and Astoria recognizes him. Draco Malfoy is, after all, the heir to one of the most prominent pureblood lines remaining.

"Draco, be a dear and dance with Astoria here," says Mrs. Malfoy, "since you won't dance with any of the girls who are your age." She casts a pointed look at Daphne and Pansy, laughing in the middle of the dance floor.

Draco casts a disgruntled look at his mother, but faces Astoria. "Would you care to dance?" he asks politely, extending his hand, a perfect pureblood prince to match Daphne.

Astoria hesitantly places her hand in his. It's warm and soft, smaller than she would expect for a boy. He carefully weaves their fingers together and leads her onto the dance floor. A semi-familiar reel plays, mid-tempo, slow enough for Draco and Astoria to do the steps without any problems, but fast enough for them to be energetic.

When the song ends, Astoria feels more like a vivacious princess than she ever has before. Draco smiles slightly at her as they head back to where Mrs. Malfoy was waiting with a smile on her face, half-hidden behind her glass.

"Thank you," Astoria says to Draco, who inclines his head. Some instinct makes her turn around to meet the eyes of her sister.

Daphne looks jealous, and Astoria knows she has every right to be. After all, Draco's choices for a bride are between her and Pansy, and Astoria doesn't even figure in. Draco isn't supposed to dance with her, he's supposed to split his affections between the two older, prettier girls until he decides which one he wants to date and later marry.

But then she turns back and Draco flashes her one last smile, this one genuine. "Good night, Astoria," he says before turning and walking towards his father.

Astoria smiles fully for the first time that night. "Good night, Draco," she whispers to his retreating back.

* * *

Twelve-year-old Astoria sits beneath the branches of a strong, hazel tree, her sketchbook on her knees and a quill in her hands. Drawing is her passion, the one thing she's better at than her sister, and it's more than a hobby, no matter what her parents say.

The sound of sneering laughter catches her ears and she looks up from her latest sketch of the courtyards. It's her sister's social circle, compromised of most of the Slytherins in Daphne's year.

"Say, Daphne, isn't that your sister?" Draco is no longer the polite, well-mannered eleven-year-old she danced with three years back. He's arrogant and proud, and walks with a swagger fit for what he is—a Black and a Malfoy.

"Yep, that's Astoria," Daphne says dismissively. Astoria grinds her teeth together and bends her head over her sketchbook, although she's unable to tune out the rest of their comments.

"The Ravenclaw, right?" Blaise Zabini's shadow falls over her and she's forced to look up into his dark blue gaze. He's observing her calmly, a smirk on his lips.

"May I help you?" She asks courteously.

He frowns thoughtfully for a moment, and then asks, "Do you have a date for the Yule Ball?"

Astoria's jaw does not drop, that's improper for a pureblood girl, but she is stunned. "M-me?"

"Yes, you," he grins at her. "If you don't, what do you say to going with me?" The casual tone of his voice is drastically different from Draco's stiff politeness of three years prior.

Astoria hesitates and glances at her sister, who looks impatient, tapping her foot and occasionally whispering to Pansy at her side. Theodore Nott is as impassive as ever, and Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle just look confused. Her gaze slides to Draco, who looks strangely uncomfortable.

"I—all right," she agrees finally. After all, Blaise's mother is both well-known and pureblood, and nobody wants to mess with the Zabinis. It wouldn't do any harm to her or her family's reputation in the pureblood social circles to go to the Yule Ball on Blaise Zabini's arm.

"Great," his grin widens into a smirk. "I'll meet you outside of your Common Room at the start of the Ball, okay?"

"Okay," she says quietly, unable to believe that a boy asked her, small, forgotten, _Ravenclaw_ Astoria to the Yule Ball, let alone a boy on first-name terms with Draco Malfoy.

Blaise turns and saunters back to the group and they set off again, Astoria staring after them. Draco lags behind and catches her eye.

Astoria blinks at him, wondering what he's thinking about. Draco looks about to say something, then changes his mind, offers her a half-smile, half-smirk, and hurries to catch up with his friends.

Astoria frowns and glances back down at her sketchbook. Slowly, she turns to a new page and begins to draw the Draco she remembered from the party three years ago. Not this smirking, sneering Slytherin, but a boy who had once paid attention to her, and only her.

* * *

The Yule Ball is in full swing, but Astoria is having minimal fun dancing with Blaise. He's charming and polite, but there's really no connection between them. He seems to realize this too, for after a few fast dances, he leaves her side to go flirt with other girls. Astoria doesn't mind as much as she probably should have.

As she's sitting alone at a table, watching everyone else have fun, a boy a few years older than her walks over to her table, his dark blond hair gelled back and reminding her forcefully of Draco in his earlier years.

"Mademoiselle, how are you?" He asks with an obvious French accent. Astoria smiles slightly at him, not in the mood for casual conversation.

"Fine, thank you," she says, and plans to leave it at that, but he keeps talking.

"My name iz Etienne Devereaux," he says with a flourish, "and I waz wondering eef you would care to dance?" Astoria opens her mouth, unsure of whether she should agree or not, when a clear-cut British voice answers for her.

"No." The voice is firm, with a note of finality. Etienne frowns above her head at the speaker, and Astoria twists in her chair to face Draco Malfoy, devoid of a giggling Pansy for once.

"She can't," Draco continues swiftly, "because she promised she would dance the next song with me."

Astoria stares at him, well aware that she has never promised him something like that—in fact, she hasn't spoken to him since Blaise asked her to the Ball. But she has no desire to dance with the French wizard, and nods to back Draco up.

"I am sorry, Etienne," she says with the false smile on her face that purebloods always used when refusing someone. "But I did indeed promise Draco that. Perhaps you might find a dance partner with those girls, they seem lonely," she gestures to where two Indian girls are sitting with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, obviously twins and obviously annoyed with their dates.

Etienne shoots Draco a dark look but walks off to the girls, and Astoria allows Draco to offer her his arm and sweep her onto the dance floor.

"Why did you do that?" She asks him once she's gotten comfortable with the rhythm of the song. Draco doesn't answer at once, instead staring off at some point beyond her shoulder. When he does speak, his voice was low and almost soft, a stark difference to his haughty tone just a few moments earlier.

"You're too good for some French ponce," he tells her lightly, as though they were discussing the weather, and dips her.

When she straightens and they resume their dancing, Astoria has a smile on her face. It feels good to be given Draco Malfoy's attention.

* * *

The cheery atmosphere of the Yule Ball does not last long. By the time Astoria returns to school for her third year, everyone's worried and anxious, whether they admit it or not. She comes from a pureblood family, a family who sympathizes with the Dark Lord, despite remaining neutral in the last war. Daphne certainly agrees with the idea of pureblood supremacy, but Astoria isn't so sure.

These are dangerous times, especially for a daughter of purebloods. Astoria knows she has to chose a side, and chose fast, but she just _can't_.

One afternoon in the Ravenclaw Common Room, Astoria finds herself sitting besides Luna Lovegood, who's humming to herself while she works on her homework. Astoria's finished her own work for the weekend and is doodling in her sketchbook.

Luna looks up suddenly. "You're a good artist," she tells Astoria, who stares at her, surprised.

"Thank you," Astoria replies, puzzled, and glances down at her drawing. It's basically random scribbles, nothing remotely artistic about it all.

"The other picture, I mean," Luna amends, realizing the younger girl's confusion. "The one you were working on before."

Astoria flips the page and stares at the picture Luna's talking about. It's of Hogwarts, drawn from her memory. One side of the castle is shrouded in the velvety darkness of night, while the other side is bright in a summer sunset. It's one of her better works, drawn earlier that year and meant to depict how quickly Hogwarts could change from light to dark.

"You understand, then?" Luna meets her gaze with her light blue one, no hint of her usual eccentricity on her face. "About the war."

Astoria hates thinking about the war—she hates blood, and she hates death, and war has both of those and then some. But she knows the answer to Luna's question, whether she likes it or not.

"I do," she murmurs, dropping her gaze down to her sketchbook. "And I hate it."

Luna tilts her head. "There's nothing to like," she says quietly, and Astoria can't help but feel that Loony Luna Lovegood is completely right.

* * *

Dolores Umbridge glowers at poor, frightened muggle-born Orla Quirke, Astoria's roommate who dared to point out that magic is more than just theory.

"Theory," hisses Umbridge, "will always suffice, Miss Quirke, and there is no reason to have practical lessons when that is true. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Greengrass?"

Astoria hesitates, glancing between a nervous Orla and a simpering Dolores Umbridge. Her pureblood lineage obviously makes Umbridge think Astoria will back her up, as most of the purebloods not in Gryffindor do.

But Astoria is old enough to know right from wrong. "I wouldn't, Professor," she says calmly, wincing inwardly at the fury that clouds Umbridge's face at her words. "I happen to agree with Orla," she continues. Orla sends her a grateful look, but both she and Astoria know now is not the time for thanks.

"Well, then, Miss Greengrass," Umbridge huffs. She obviously doesn't take people disagreeing with her too well, Astoria notes. "If you agree with her, you won't mind joining her for detention tonight, now would you?"

"No, Professor," Astoria keeps her face blank, as she's been taught to do from a young age. Umbridge stalks back to the front of the classroom, glaring at everyone in her way.

After detention that evening, Astoria and Orla return to their Common Room, their hands stinging with their own blood. Several people gasp over them, but no one dares refer them to Madam Pomfrey, it would only make Umbridge angrier, and she'd punish them more.

"I have some dittany," Luna offers them when she approaches. Astoria nods thankfully and Luna disappears into her dormitory to fetch the dittany.

"Thank you," Orla says as they rub the salve onto their hands. "For agreeing with me back there."

Astoria smiles, though it doesn't reach her eyes. Few people's smiles reach their eyes this year. "I do what I can," she says, even as she worries that it might not be enough.

* * *

Astoria's fourth year is worse than ever. Now that everyone knows the Dark Lord has returned, everyone's scared, even the students who sympathize with the Dark Lord. Astoria is not one of them, though Daphne is.

"I saw Father's Mark," Astoria overhears Daphne telling Pansy one afternoon. "It's dark green and it covers almost his entire forearm."

Astoria feels disgusted as they giggle—they act as though they're gossiping about a breakup instead of talking about the symbol of the most feared wizard in the land.

"It's just like Draco's, then?" Pansy asks, and Astoria freezes in her tracks. "He wasn't making it up?"

Daphne shakes her head, vanilla-blond locks bouncing. "Not from what I could tell. They're almost exactly the same. He's definitely a Death Eater."

Astoria feels sick to her stomach as she walks hastily away from the two older girls. Draco was a Death Eater—Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater.

She knew he sympathized with the cause, probably more than anyone else in the school, but she never thought he would take the Mark—at least, not while he was so young.

"He's ruining his life," she whispers, not looking where she's going. As a result, she bumps into Neville Longbottom.

"Oh, sorry," Neville says, steadying her before she fell to the ground. When she regains her balance and meets his eyes, she sees a frown on his face.

"Who were you talking about?" He asks her in a low voice. Astoria tenses, thinking how best to answer that. Should she tell the truth, as she was apt to do, or lie for a boy who had danced with her twice in his life and seemed likely to spill the news about his new title himself?

"Draco," she says finally, because she knows that Neville, unlike Draco and Daphne and the other Slytherins is trustworthy, despite never having actually talked to him before.

"Malfoy?" He raises an eyebrow. "His life seems pretty ruined without his help—his father's in Azkaban, nobody really likes him…."

"Except Pansy," Astoria agrees, "but he—he's taken the Mark." She feels oddly like she's betraying Draco by telling Neville that, but she can't bring herself to care.

Neville regards her, looking somewhat sympathetic. "It was only a matter of time," he tells her, and she knows it's true, but it's still hard to admit.

"I know," she sighs quietly, but before she can continue, a voice interrupts their conversation.

"Longbottom, what are you doing with Astoria?" Draco Malfoy asks sharply, sneering at Neville as he stalks forward, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him.

"We're talking," Neville glares at Draco. "Is that a problem, Malfoy?"

Astoria has to admire the older Gryffindor for his courage, even if she does think facing off to Draco Malfoy is a bit foolhardy. Even without his father's influence, he could make your life miserable.

"Yes," snaps Draco. "You're a blood traitor and she's not. Get away from her."

Neville glances back at Astoria, one eyebrow raised. Astoria bites her lip, and looks towards Draco, who has yet to stop glaring at Neville.

"Draco," she calls, and he turns his gaze to her. Astoria's eyes flicker towards his left arm, where she knows his Mark will be, but he doesn't notice.

"I'm fine," she tells him. "Neville wasn't doing anything wrong."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Why are you talking to him?" He demands. "He hangs out with Potter and his mudblood posse—"

Astoria reaches out to restrain an enraged Neville and glares at Draco. "I'm not one of your flunkies, Draco, I don't answer to you."

Draco gapes at her. Astoria lets go of Neville, who's calmed down, and turns her back on the trio of Slytherins, walking away as quickly as she can. She's well away from Draco by the time Neville catches up to her.

"That was really brave," he tells her as they walk.

She shrugs. "I guess so." Her calm façade crumbles for a moment. "I've never talked to anyone like that, especially not Draco," she admits.

Neville smiles ruefully. "I know how you feel—I was the same way until last year." He shakes his head reminiscently.

"Is it hard?" Astoria speaks before she has time to consider her words. "Siding with Harry Potter when You-Know-Who is getting stronger by the minute?"

Neville sends her a half-smile. "There's nothing wrong with saying his name," he says, but goes on to answer her question. "I suppose it might be hard, if I hadn't known Harry for so long."

"What do you mean?" She asks, honestly confused.

"Harry's one of my best friends—one of my only friends," Neville explains. "He's brave and he's strong and he's got a streak of really good luck. And he's going to beat Voldemort." To her credit, Astoria doesn't flinch, though she does marvel at Neville's confidence.

"What makes you so sure?" She asks softly.

Neville smiles warmly at her. "Call it Gryffindor intuition."

Not for the first time, Astoria wishes she were brave enough to be a Gryffindor.

* * *

_Dumbledore's dead._ The words echo in Astoria's mind, repeating themselves all throughout the funeral. She's the only one of her family who attends, because neither her mother, nor father, nor sister care for Dumbledore.

But Astoria cares. Because he was her Headmaster, and he wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to always be around, smiling cheerfully and offering lemon drops to everyone, keeping the school safe and protected against Voldemort.

Now what's there to protect them? Astoria knows the answer is _no one_. Just them—untrained, idealistic children. They should have been planning their futures, instead, they're worrying if they'll live till tomorrow.

Astoria sighs as the official funeral ends and the guests start mingling, speaking in hushed voices. She spots Dolores Umbridge, as toad-faced and pink-clad as ever, and the Minister of Magic, attempting a conversation with Harry Potter.

She wanders aimlessly until she finds herself in front of Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, both uncharacteristically somber.

"Hello," she offers them a weak smile. Luna returns it, and Neville nods at her. She knows he doesn't feel like smiling—she doesn't either.

"How are you feeling?" Neville asks her and she shrugs, knowing full well how she's feeling—anxious, defeated, and weak.

"Me too," agrees Luna, though Astoria hasn't said anything, and the other two smile at her.

"I just can't believe it," Astoria murmurs as the three begin walking aimlessly. "I never though he could actually _die_."

"Neither did I," Neville sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What are we going to do now?"

"The same thing we always have," Luna tells them calmly. "Fight for what we believe in. We did that all year last year, why stop now?"

"That made sense," Astoria says, mock-astonished, and Neville chuckles.

"You're right, Luna," he tells the blond. "That's really the only thing we can do." He glances between the two girls. "You're both coming back next year?"

"If it's open," says Astoria doubtfully.

"It'll be open," Luna counters. "Voldemort wants it open."

"Well, if _he_ wants it open," mutters Neville sarcastically. Astoria stops short—they've approached Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

"Hey, guys," Neville says and both he and Luna receive greetings in response.

Harry stares curiously at Astoria. "Who are you?" He asks, not unkindly.

"Astoria Greengrass," she answers shyly. She's never hero-worshipped Harry, but he's one of the popular kids, in school and out.

"Don't you have a sister?" Ron blurts out.

"Yes, Daphne, in your year." Astoria's used to people asking her about Daphne—she's the pretty, popular sister, after all, the one everyone noticed.

"She's a Ravenclaw," Neville says suddenly, staring at the Golden Trio as though daring them to harp on Astoria for having a Slytherin family. None of them seem likely to do so.

"Nice to meet you," says Hermione politely, and asks Neville and Luna, "Are you two coming to Bill and Fleur's wedding?"

"Yes," Luna confirms while Neville shrugs. "I might. I don't know yet."

Astoria tunes the conversation out, thoughts about Dumbledore, death, and the war in general racing around her mind.

It's a dark, shadowed world she lives in now, she realizes with a shiver of fear. A world run by Voldemort. A world where death could steal any of her friends and family at a moment's notice.

A world where she could die.

It was a scary thought.

* * *

"You, get over here!" Astoria starts as she realizes Alecto Carrow was talking to her.

Slowly, she makes her way across the classroom to her teacher. Daphne had brought her here, to help the Carrows with detention. Astoria knows very well what detention means to the Carrows—torture, blood, and the screams of the innocent.

Daphne smirks at her as Astoria approaches Alecto, who points at the blond seventh year sprawled on the floor before them, her clothes ripped, her face tear-streaked, but her eyes shining with the determination of a Gryffindor.

"This brat here," spits Alecto; Astoria leans away, "_cheeked_ me during class. Show her how true purebloods act, Greengrass."

Astoria knows what Alecto means—torture the girl, cast _Cruciatus_ on her. Nausea hits her, but she keeps from vomiting and raises her wand, aiming it at the girl.

She's seen the girl before, Lavender Brown, Ron Weasley's ex-girlfriend. Pansy and Daphne spent a lot of time giggling and mocking her. She's a pretty girl, rather like Daphne, with blond hair and blue eyes.

Astoria knows she cannot do this, even as she whispers the curse. "_Crucio_." You have to mean it, and Astoria doesn't.

As the red light hits her, Lavender screams. Astoria frowns in confusion, knowing there's no possibly way her spell could have hurt her enough to make her gasp in pain, let alone scream, when she realizes what Lavender is doing.

She's covering for her.

Astoria casts the spell again, and Lavender lets loose another scream. Alecto looks pleased and motions for Astoria to continue, which she does so gladly. If she can spare even one girl whom she doesn't know the pain of the _Cruciatus_, she will.

When detention ends, Lavender walks out with the jeers of her torturers behind her. As she passes Astoria, she mumbles a quick "Thank you", too low for anyone else to hear.

Astoria inclines her head in response and smiles, finally feeling like she's doing something to help.

* * *

Astoria watches with baited breath as students pour through doors of the Hog's Head, frantic and worried, calling for their friends over the din of the voices.

She knows she's too young to fight, she knows she'd die if she stepped anywhere near the battlefield, but she can't help wishing there was something for her to do.

"Excuse me, ma'm?" A little first-year boy tugs on the sleeve of her cloak. "Do you know where my mother is?"

The look in his eyes makes her heart break, and she gently takes his hand. "No, but I'll help you find her. What's her name?"

"Giselle Hart, ma'm. She works for Florean Fortescue," he adds helpfully.

"Then let's go there," Astoria says, and begins to lead him through the throng of people towards the ice cream shop. Once outside the Hog's Head, though, she stops and takes out her wand.

"Point me Giselle Hart," she whispers to it as the boy watches in fascination. Her wand spins and points straight at Florean Fortescue, where people gather for shelter and comfort.

"Come on," Astoria says to the little boy, and they walk towards the ice cream parlor. Inside, she repeats the spell and the wand points to the back counter. Several employees flit about, but the boy immediately rushes towards one anxious-looking woman at the very back.

"Mum!" He cries joyfully and she turns, smiling when she realizes it's her son. He hugs her tightly and she kisses his forehead, overjoyed at having her son safe and sound.

"Oh, Jake, you're safe," she breathes as they part. Jake beams at her, and then turns around to smile at Astoria.

"Thank you," he tells her, and Giselle follows his gaze. "She brought me over here," Jake explains.

Giselle smiles warmly at Astoria. "Thank you, dear, thank you so much," she whispers fervently.

Astoria smiles back. "You're welcome. Anything to help," she says honestly. "Anything at all."

* * *

Astoria can hardly believe it, any of it. The Final Battle is over and done with, the war is finished, and Harry Potter has won. It's surreal, and she almost believes she's dreaming, but she knows she's not.

The bodies of the dead prove that.

Astoria makes her way through the throngs of people to sit next to Neville at the Gryffindor table where he's surrounded by his admirers. Several girls glare jealously at her when he smiles and greets her.

"Hey, Astoria," he grins. "Can you believe it? We won!"

"I know!" She feels giddy at the thought of it—Voldemort's gone, gone for good, and he won't even come back. Even the realization that her father is likely to go to Azkaban doesn't deter her elation.

"You were really brave," she compliments Neville, who smiles and offers her the sword to see. Astoria takes it gently, tracing the rubies on the hilt.

"Don't look now," Neville whispers to her as she admires the sword, "but Draco Malfoy's staring at you."

Astoria frowns at him. "Why?" Neville shrugs while she lays the sword back on the table.

"No clue." Neville's distracted by two young boys asking him for his autograph. Astoria lowers her eyes and peers at Draco through her lashes, an art of spying she perfected when she was younger.

Sure enough, Draco's gaze is locked on her. His mother looks distracted, apparently searching the crowd for someone, while his father just looks out of place.

Astoria lifts her head to meet his eyes. He jumps, visibly startled, and averts his gaze. Confused, Astoria glances down at the plates of food popping up on the table.

"The house-elves sure work fast, don't they?" A voice says from behind her. Ginny Weasley smiles in greeting and takes a seat next to Astoria.

"They do," agrees Astoria, and begins piling her plate. Ginny and Neville do the same; opposite them, so do the Malfoys.

After breakfast, everyone finally starts moving the bodies. Astoria excuses herself from the Great Hall, not sure she can stand to see the corpses for a moment longer, especially not those of students, of friends.

As she walks, she becomes aware of someone following her. Stopping in her tracks, she turns around to face a sheepish Draco Malfoy.

"Um, hi," he says awkwardly.

"Hello," Astoria replies coolly. Neville and Ginny had related the battle to her; she knew Draco had been fighting for Voldemort, fighting to kill her friends.

He glances down, then back up at her, looking embarrassed. "I heard about what you did," he says suddenly. "During the battle, I mean. There were a group of younger kids talking about how you helped them."

Astoria smiles, thinking of the little kids she had helped reunite with their worried parents. Jake had given her the idea, and she had done it for as long as the battle lasted.

"It was really sweet of you," Draco tells her honestly. "Helping them—I wouldn't have thought to do that."

Astoria frowns at him. "No, you probably wouldn't," she agrees, glancing at his left arm. Draco seems to realize where her gaze is, and rubs the Mark uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. Astoria looks back up at him. "I'm sorry for everything I did during the war. I know it's not enough, but…I wanted you to know that."

Astoria studies him carefully. He seems sincere enough, but Draco Malfoy has always been a puzzle to her.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," she says softly, and turns away, knowing that, for some inexplicable reason, she has already forgiven him.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Wow, that plot bunny totally just got away from me. I just really like Astoria's character, and now I feel tempted to do an AU with her in the DA. But that's a different story. Review and tell me if you liked this! **


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